


A Place I, like, Really Belong

by Androids_in_Metropolis



Series: If Rickie Vasquez were Adopted as a Chase [1]
Category: My So-Called Life
Genre: Caring, Coming Out, Cute, Fluff, Friendship, Gay, Gen, Parental - Freeform, Religion, Self Harm, Universe Alteration, rickie-centric cos I love him to death, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 01:19:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6402577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Androids_in_Metropolis/pseuds/Androids_in_Metropolis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rickie wasn’t strictly religious; He didn’t really believe in God, per se, but his doubt didn’t keep him from praying to something to become straight...for his parents to get on...for people to stop bullying him and for the pain to stop for the world to change for the…</p><p>Rickie prayed for a lot of things, for a lot of people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Place I, like, Really Belong

**Author's Note:**

> So, basically, I love Rickie but he also somehow makes me really depressed and in pain so I wrote this thing. It's really long, and part of a series I'm working on of just better times for Rickie Vasquez. I know I need to work on characterization and fitting everyone in, but this is sorta my best shot. Tell me what y'all think :)

Rickie wasn’t strictly religious; He didn’t really believe in God, per se, but his doubt didn’t keep him from praying to something to become straight...for his parents to get on...for people to stop bullying him and for the pain to stop for the world to change for the…

Rickie prayed for a lot of things, for a lot of people. 

He wore a small gold cross around his neck (a fag necklace, people told him), had a bible in his nightstand, had an icon over his bed. These were just symbols; He didn’t believe in god. If there was a god, why was he in so much pain? Was he inherently evil? Did he deserve this? 

This was all when he was younger; Before it had been beaten into him that God was the one true savior and everything he got he deserved. He had started to believe it by the time he was sixteen years old. He had started to believe that he was the problem, and God was punishing him for something he had done (what it was was still unclear to him, though his parents had unless suggestions and ways to represent) and so he tried to embrace it. He was in constant pain now; He was torn between constant rebelliousness over the fact that he might just be bad and he should embrace that, and constant repentance grovelling and hating himself all the while. 

He was torn between acting like the wild heathen his parents made him out to be and being the repentant kid with the rocks in his shoes as he stood in church (he had bruised the souls of his feet so badly that he still limped). 

He had stopped talking about it with Rayanne and Angela...He had stopped talking much to anybody. He fluctuated between drinking, loud, rowdy-a faux happiness easily passing as insane-and quiet, burning sadness hidden away amongst the other kids in the hallways (when he bothered to show up to school...he knew he would have to redo the year. He didn’t care). 

Angela and Rayanne could see that Rickie was quickly falling into ruin; When he came to school they couldn’t tell which of the cuts and bruises were inflicted by himself and which might be from other people pushing him into walls or backhanding him on the cheek. 

The slow self destruction of Enrique Vasquez had begun in earnest now, after years of simmering directly under the surface behind a fasade of brightly coloured shirts and carefully lined eyes. 

\---------------

“Where has that Rickie been? I haven’t seen him with you guys any more,” Angela’s father asked, genuine concern and curiosity in his voice. As awkward as their meetings had been in the past (Mr. Chase never knew how to act around the teenage boy who somehow reminded so much of his little sister, Kate. She had died when she had jumped off their childhood houses roof when he was twenty), he was found of the kid. He worried about him...He wondered what life was like at home for Rickie; He knew very well that not all parents were as open as he and his wife were. 

He had seen Rickie in some questionable places as of late on his way home on late nights at the office. He had almost stopped to help, to bring the kid home on many occasions, but for some reason had always ended up driving past. He looked intently at his eldest daughter, evaluating her response. 

Angela looked up from her food, her smile slipping off her face; She had no idea where Rickie had been...she desperately wanted to know, she needed to know. She wanted to help him with whatever the hell he was going through, but he was making it awfully hard to do so. He was pushing everyone away. 

“I don’t know where he’s been,” she replied, almost sheepishly. She wished so hard she could have had a better answer to the question. “I mean, we...he’s not been talking to us, like, at all.” She stabbed particularly viciously at the potato on her plate, almost sending it skittering across the table. 

Mrs. Chase looked at her husband, then at her daughter, and back at her husband...Angela pushed her chair back so suddenly that it toppled to the floor, running from the room as tears began to stream down her cheeks. She rubbed them away, but new ones simply replaces them. 

‘Like, why does he have to do this to himself? Like why can’t he just accept that Rayanne and me...we’re like his friends?’ She thought dismally, rolling into a miserable ball underneath underneath her quilt, letting the tears fall freely onto her pillow. ‘We were family.’ Angela didn’t understand why he would possibly want to push them away, to isolate himself so badly. 

The Chase parent’s sat slightly stunned at the table, Mr. Chase getting to his feet and running after his daughter, leaving his wife to clean up from dinner. 

“Angela,” he called softly, knocking on her closed door. “Angela, honey, we can talk about this,” he offered, his voice low, pleading. He wasn’t sure what was going on between his eldest and the Rickie boy, but to get a reaction like that out of his often painfully withdrawn daughter it had to be something important. 

Angela didn’t reply, simply crying quietly into her pillow. Her dad couldn’t help; They had to find a way to help Rickie on their own. There was nothing the old, white, straight male could offer Rickie right then, was there? Nothing he would be willing to give, anyway. Angela realised that Rickie and Rayanne meant more to her than anyone else...including Jordan. Over their time together they had been so close and known each other so well-That couldn’t just fall apart now. It wasn’t allowed to. 

She fell asleep that night, new resolve in her mind to make things alright again. 

\----------------

Ricky was on his way to black out drunk; He couldn’t see straight anymore...frankly he wasn’t sure if he was even standing up any more. He might have simply fallen into a tilted world...maybe he was the only person still standing, he wasn’t sure. He had been trying to drink himself into a state of either bravery or forgetfulness. If he was brave he’d just end things; Take his father’s gun to his head and leave himself in the bathroom for his witch of a mother to find. After all, was suicide not a noble way out when you already broke God’s heart? If he could forget things...maybe he could be happy for a moment. 

He slipped, cutting his arm on something on the cold club floor. It was probably a shard of glass...some broken drink bottle probably. He didn't stop to think about it, shudderingly getting to his feet. He felt like he had to be somewhere...where he didn’t know. He just wanted to go somewhere safe and hide; He wanted to be loved, for someone to tell him that he wasn’t a freak of nature or the bane of the Catholic church. 

He found himself at Angela’s door, knocking. He didn’t know what time it was...it must have been late. He felt bad, thinking he must be waking someone...he thought about turning away, running back to where ever it was he came from, but if he couldn’t trust Angela who could he trust? 

Nobody. 

He was beginning to feel quite sick...more sick than he had felt when he had started drinking, when the door opened, revealing Mr. Chase in his pajamas looking at Rickie quisickly before stepping back from the door, quickly guiding the intoxicated teen inside. 

“Angela...Mr. Ch-Cha-ase,” Rickie stuttered as he was guided to a couch and sat down. “I gotta talk to Angela.” He needed to talk to Angela; He needed to ask her what he should do...what he was doing. He could try to talk to Rayanne, but she wasn’t like Angela. She didn’t get things-She cared and all, but she didn’t understand. 

“Rickie, Rickie honey,” Mr. Chase said, a little desperately. Rickie was obviously extremely drunk, and upset, and he seemed to be bleeding though he was moving so erratically that Mr. Chase could not identify the source of the blood. He had bruises on his cheeks, dark circles on his eyes… “Rickie, calm down, calm down. I’ll go get Angela. Just stay where you are,” he instructed, both his hands braced on Rickie’s knees as he crouched before him. 

“Yeah, I nee-d Angel-la,” Rickie agreed, almost sleepily. His speech was distorted, slow to react. “I need her, Mr…” 

Mrs. Chase stood sleepily in the doorway, trying to figure out what was going on. She understood that Rickie was there, and something was obviously wrong, and that he wanted Angela seemingly as if she was the only thing that could halt an impending emergency. Angela appeared by her side, sleepy words on her lips as she inquired what the commotion was before she saw Rickie on the couch, her dad talking to him as if he were a small child. The same way he spoke to her when she was sick or when she was little. 

She ran to him, accidently pushing her dad aside as she wrapped her arms protectively around his neck as he started to cry. She felt his hands shakily grasping at any part of her he could hold. 

“Rickie,” She whispered, hugging him close. “You’ve been drinking, why?” She asked, sliding onto the couch beside him, ignoring her parents awkward gazes as she wrapped her arms more protectively around him, letting him lay in her lap. 

“I just wanna forget, like, everything Angela, you know?” He said sleepily, his tone pathetic. “I don’t wanna hurt anymore, please.” He still had tears running down his cheeks. He’d lost a lot of weight, his once pleasantly round face now more angular and somehow foreign. He had both his hands wrapped up in her shirt, and she noted the blood, looking up at her father in mild shock. Why was her Rickie bleeding? 

“Daddy,” She said quietly, “I’m going to take Rickie upstairs and clean him up...ok?” She half expected her parents to reply ‘no way!’ But instead he simply nodded, offering to carry Rickie’s limp form up to the bathroom by her bedroom. 

Once he was carefully set up, leaning against the bathtub, a pillow behind his head Angela began to undress him, pulling of the grimey and blood stained clothes. He had a multitude of cuts and bruises up his arms and legs, causing her to grimace. The most disconcerting being the open, free bleeding on on his forearm. She ran the bath, gently helping him in and began to clean him off, leaning in and kissing his cheek. 

“My Rickie, what have you done...what have you done,” she whispered as she worked, helping him out even as it was clear he was on the verge of falling asleep. 

“Angela, I just wanna stop hurting so bad,” he whimpered, leaning into her warmth as she towel dried him, helping him get dressed again in a pair of her dad’s underwear and her pajamas with little flowers on the pants and a t-shirt for some band she hardly ever listened to anyway. 

“You’re not going to Rickie, I promise. You’re not going to anymore,” she whispered, bangeding up the worst of the cuts and leading him to her bedroom where they both fell into bed, Angela wrapping herself protectively and securely around her friend’s body. Rickie wouldn’t be allowed to fall apart any further-He’d finally let her in, and she wasn’t letting him push her out again. 

Her parents watched from the doorway, biting their lips in parental concern...they weren’t comfortable with the situation, but it was also four A.M and very clear that Angela had things under control for the moment (when had she grown up so much?); They decided to let it slip. 

“What should we do about Rickie?” Mrs. Chase asked her husband sleepily once they were finally back in bed ready to catch up on the few hours of sleep they had missed but knowing they’d have to be up again in an a few hours. 

“Just...Let’s take care of him. He obviously means the world to Angela,” Mr. Chase replied. “He seems so lost.” 

Mrs. Chase hummed in reply as she fell asleep, her husband following her into the dream plane. 

\------------

Angela was awoken by Rickie falling off the bed, a loud thump as he fell. She leaned over the edge of the bed, a small smile spreading across her face as for a moment she saw the old Rickie lying dazed and confused on the floor; Then he scrambled to his feet and she heard gagging sounds from in the bathroom. 

‘Oh, great..the hangover stage, or like, something like that.’ Angela though, somewhat resentfully as she pulled herself out of bed and ran to the bathroom, closing the door behind her as she knelt beside her friend, rubbing circles on the base of hi back where the shirt had come up at some point during sleep. 

Rickie was uncomfortably warm, a fever shine obvious in his watering eyes as he looked at Angela for a moment as if he was trying to remember who she was and why he was with her. He looked so small and sick, his hands were shaking as he tried to brace himself against the toilet. He looked so fragile, his curly hair falling into his eyes. 

Angela reached up, pushing the hair out of his face, cringing at how warm his skin was. He definitely had a fever, she thought, wondering how his luck could be so bad. He leaned into her, and she didn't say anything, simply wrapping her arm around Rickie and leaning against the bathtub, kissing his cheek gently. 

“Rickie, you wanna tell me, like, what’s even going on with you?” She whispered, running her thumb against his hand. His head was on her shoulder; she ran her fingers through his hair. He nuzzled into her touch. 

“Mm, No, I don’t want to talk about it Angel, please,” Ricky whispered, closing his eyes tightly as if he was in pain. He probably was. Hangovers hurt your head, or something like that. Angela wasn’t going to take it though, she had to know what was going on. 

“Just tell me, Rickie, I gotta know,” she tried again, trying to explain the feeling in the pit of her stomach that just made her want-No, need-to know what was going on in her best friend’s head. He wasn’t the same guy he was when he was fourteen, or even fifteen. He had totally changed, and she didn’t like it at all. There was something eating him up inside, and she wanted to kill it. 

“Fine,” Rickie mumbled, leaning into her so his voice was almost inaudible. “I’m Catholic, you know, like, my parents are Catholic and like everyone in my family is Catholic...but I don’t fit in! I don’t fit in anywhere…” Rickie was choking up, but he still went on. “You know, I don’t fit in like anywhere...at home they hurt me, Angie, like really hurt me,” He buried his face further into Angela’s neck, and she wrapped her arm further around him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“They hurt me at school...at home, in church, I can’t do anything right. I tried to be straight, Angie, I really did and it didn’t change anything. I still liked boys, I still wanted to wear makeup and hang out with girls. What’s wrong with me, Angel? What’s wrong with me?” He was crying now, his tears soaking through Angela’s shirt. 

“No, no Rickie, baby,” she said, not speaking like herself; Speaking how she thought a comforting person would speak. It didn’t even sound like her voice, but she tried it anyway. She tried to talk like her mom for a minute. “You’re perfect. You’re perfect, Rickie,” she whispered, holding him close. “I mean it, you don’t need to like, listen to people who say otherwise, including your parents and whatever,” she mumbled, dropping the mother act, and instead just being the best friend again. 

“You’re only saying that,” Rickie mumbled, but he’d pulled away from her now, rolling himself into a ball. He felt sick again. He felt like nothing made sense away from Angela-She could make things make sense. “You’re just saying that; Face it, Angie, I’m gay! My parents won’t keep me, my church hates me, but not as much as my parents do, the school hates me...what am I gonna do?” 

Angela reached out and took Rickie’s hand in her’s. 

“Rique, you’re sick. You’re hungover, and tired, and you’re scared. Don’t worry, like at all, you can live with me,” she mumbled, running her hand through Rickie’s hair. “Don’t worry. You’re safe. You’re safe,” she repeats, holding him close and kissing him gently on the cheek. She had lost count of the number of platonic kisses they had shared...these ones seemed different-Now she was just trying to keep him afloat. 

“I can’t stay here, Angel. Your parents...I can’t, and I can’t go home. I can’t live like i do. I’m going to die,” Rickie was crying even harder, gagging into his hand as he pushed forward gagging into the toilet. 

“No, no Rickie. No,” she whispered, rubbing his back gently trying not to hurt him by touching any of the multitude of bruises. 

\--------------

Rickie and Angela had only known each other over a year now; They’d met through Rickie’s best friend, now also Angela’s best friend, Rayanne. She hadn’t been a very good friend to either of them lately, and they had grown very close in that time; Almost like family. 

Rayanne had her own problems to deal with lately, and much as Angela wanted to help, Rayanne wasn’t like Rickie. She needed something more than just a family to hold onto and a shoulder to cry on and someone to whisper I love you. She needed actual psychological help. Angela couldn’t give that, and neither could Rickie. 

Since Rayanne had started to fade away from them both, they had learnt to cling to each other until Rickie had started to fade out too. Now Angela was stuck holding them both up, and while Rayanne had an arsenal of doctors and a mother (no matter how crazy) Rickie had nothing. 

She promised herself to be there to be there for Rickie-To actually show how much she loved him. 

\-----------

Rickie was laying on the couch in the Chase’s living room; He was fast asleep, the hangover having long since past but now something worse had settled in. He wasn’t happy-Well, he was, but he wasn’t. He felt like he was walking on eggshells in the Chase household. Mrs. Chase disliked him, Mr. Chase seemed to want to make him a man...of course neither of them really wanted him to hang around as he had been for the past two days. He was sure he was even wearing on Angela’s nerves. 

Who really wanted to deal with a depressed and suicidal interracial gay teen? He was the kid other kids were told to stay away from, right? He was different...why would they want him around? 

Angela was in the kitchen with her parents, sitting on the kitchen counter and looking at her mother and father very seriously. Daniela was thankfully not home…

“Mom, you should know! You were adopted!” She argued, looking pleadingly at her mother. “You gotta know, but it’s like, worse for Rickie. He knew his parents, and they really messed him up. He just, like, needs a good family or whatever, and we’re like, a good family.” 

“But, listen, Angela, you have to understand! We cannot just adopt Enrique!” Her mother said, almost stomping her foot. Honestly, she wanted to be on Angela’s side. The kid had barely just turned sixteen...he was even a few months younger than Angela even. “That’s just not how it works!” 

“Sure you can, mom. His parent’s don’t want him mom, and his name’s Rickie!” Angela hissed, narrowing her eyes at her parents. “Is it ‘cos we can’t afford it or something? ‘Cos like, I’ll do anything, I can work,” Angela offered, her voice pleading. 

“No, Angela, honey, that’s not the problem-We just...we don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mr. Chase said, shaking his head. “We wouldn’t know the first thing about raising a kid like Rickie. Rickie’s different, Angela.” 

Angela looked upset, angry even. She jumped off the counter, getting uncomfortably close to her mother and father. 

“No! That’s not what you mean-You mean you don’t wanna have a gay kid living with us. Mom, he’s gay, not stupid! He’s brilliant, and kind, and oh, common, like whatever! You’ll have to meet his boyfriends, but you like, have to meet mine too!” 

Mr. Chase spluttered, but the truth was, she was right. He didn’t want to raise a gay kid, no matter how nice he was. He wouldn’t know how...Rickie needed some sort of support, and Mr. Chase wasn’t sure he had it in him to support a kid who was as upset and breakable as Rickie was. 

It was the right thing though…

“Look, Angela, we’ll talk about it. Go be with Rickie, okay? You have school tomorrow.” 

Angela knew she had just won. 

\---------------

Rickie was laying in Angela’s bed with her. It had become their routine. Rickie had nightmares, and Angela was the only one who could make them go away. He lay wrapped around her, and they whispered conversations late into the night. 

“Rickie, would you want to live with me...just like we are, like, forever or like, until we grow up or whatever?” Angela asked, kissing Rickie on the tip of the nose. He had his eyes closed, he looked exhausted. 

He had been anxious, scared, jumpy...It was hard for him to come off the binge drinking and the self mutilation that was so easy to put himself through, but so hard to stop. He was getting better, he thought, but at the same time he was falling apart. He was a burden on everyone...The question caught him totally off guard. 

“Well, yeah, of course. But I, like couldn’t. I’d be so in the way and whatever, and your parents…” The question hurt him. Of course he couldn’t stay...it was obvious. Was she trying to hurt him? Of course she didn’t want him to be hurt, of course he was being awful but he just tightened his grip around Angel's waist and buried his head in her chest. 

“No, Rickie, stop it...I mean, they said I could ask you. Do you, like, want to leave your parents and just be, like a Chase/Vasquez, or whatever,” Angela offered, awkwardly, sounding slightly resigned. Rickie hated himself. She couldn’t do too much about that, other than just be with him. 

“Do you want me to, Angie? I mean it. I’ll just be in the way.” 

“Shut up, Rickie!” Angela whisper yelled, sitting bolt upright, pushing Rickie off her. “Shut up, shut up!” She was angry now, even though she knew she shouldn’t be. She didn’t really have a right to be, but she felt like she should have the right. She felt like his family now. Didn’t that give her a right to be angry for him, when he wouldn’t do it for himself? 

Rickie looked like he might start to cry, and Angela felt terrible for yelling, even if she like, hadn’t really been yelling. 

“Look, I’m sorry Rickie, but I want you to live with me. I want us to keep what we have, I want, like, for us to keep up what we have. You’re, like my best friend, common! You’re practically family,” Angela whispered, running her hand over Rickie’s cheek. His face was still hollow, he still looked too warm and tired. He looked sick, and out of it, and Angela just wanted to make it better somehow. 

“If that was true, then, yes. I do want to stay with you…” Rickie whispered, leaning forward and resting his forehead on Angela’s boney shoulder. He was crying, softly though, holding Angela close to him. 

“Oh, Rickie,” Angela whispered into the darkness, laying back on the bed, still holding Rickie. They’d be alright. She, Rickie, and Rayanne, they’d work out if they stayed together. Rickie would end up being happy, they’d find other kids like him...Rayanne would get better. She’d sort herself out. If Rickie stayed everything would be okay again. She knew it. 

She didn’t need Jordan, and Rayanne didn’t need alcohol, and neither did Rickie. All they needed was to stick together and work things out. 

She slept well for the first time since Rickie turned up at her door Friday night. 

\-----------------

Rayanne came over Monday night; She’d known Rickie for years. Rickie was her best friend, had been since they were twelve. It burned her up a little bit that Rickie was now tight with Angela, who she thought was her new best friend, but then again, they were good for each other...both of them needed a chill pill. 

As they lay on Angela’s bed, Rickie in between them in a kind of lengthwise group hug. Just like old times, now. Just like old times. 

“So, you’re like, a Chase now or something?” Rayanne giggled, making Angela laugh along with her even though neither of them knew what they were even laughing at or about. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Rickie laughed, suddenly just infinitely grateful to have the two girls laying beside him, making sure he was safe and making him feel cared for and wanted. “Yeah, I guess I am. Think people will believe it?” Rickie asked, mimicking a strong puerto rican accent. 

They all burst into laugher…

Things would be alright. It’d be alright…

The chase parents watched from the doorway, their faces hidden as they exchanged soft smiles. 

Life sure would be...different from now on.

**Author's Note:**

> Please please please review and tell me what you think and if you like it and what you think :) (oops, I said what you think twice but I don't really feel like deleting it so instead I'm just writing a lengthy explanation)
> 
> Anyone else want to write Rickie-centric with me? I'd be keen to read it!


End file.
